Holding On
by KShade
Summary: Post Chosen, before the comics. Drusilla goes to Sunnydale to see if, by some miracle, Spike survived. When she finds his ashes, and begins to hallucinate, see the life they could have had, will she be able to hold on? She is locked away in an asylum, slowly starving and waiting for the end, Spike is brought back, and shown where to find her. Can they keep holding on?
1. Part One: Among the Ashes

**First, I know. Bad me, starting yet another fic, now. I have a lot of them, but feels like this don't come around all the time. Dedicated to the incredible Spike and Dru in my rp. Once I was done bawling, you two inspired so much! **

_And in the end, I guess I had to fall, always find my place among the ashes…  
-Lithium by Evanescence_

Drusilla was there the whole time. She saw it. Even from where she'd been at the time, a small town outside Sunnydale, she's felt the earth swallow up her William. She could feel it, and as she did, she let out a mournful cry. She'd let him die. He died because she left, and she left so he could be the champion, save the world. But there was no world for her like this, no reason. It was like her world was in the ashes that she could taste, hot and bitter, stinging her already tearful eyes, making the unnecessary breaths catch in her throat. It filled her senses with hot, burning pain like she was joining him, but when it subsided, she hurt more. She was stuck living in a world without him, at least the pain had distracted her.

The trip to Sunnydale was easy in a sense. She just killed a couple, and drove down the highway, occasionally veering off the road entirely, hitting small animals, a cactus once, since she was crossing part of the desert. When she pulled up to the crater, the windshield of the car was just as broken as she felt, stumbling to the edge. She was tempted to hurl herself from it, but she knew how the stars loved their trickery. She had to be certain first that her William was— that he had— that it had happened. She would be sure first, either way, before she did anything permanent.

She crawled down the wall, scaling it as quickly as she could, knowing that whatever happened, she wanted the pain to stop, and soon one way or another it would end. Her hands bled from debris ripping into them like little knives. She barely noticed. Pain, at least of the physical kind didn't bother her. It didn't hurt her like this did, watching him die, suffocating on his ashes. Once she got to the bottom, her hands were sliced up like she felt. She walked past the graveyard he used to stay in, seeing his crypt. The top of the roof stuck out from the ground like the corner if a book about better times. It was so cracked, just as they had been, there was a large hole, and when she reached in, an actual book.

He'd had this book when he met her. It was the book her William wrote in. The familiar part of him made her crumple to the ground like a broken doll, sobbing bitterly. This was her fault. She chose the world over him, let him die. He hadn't even known why, nor known that she loved him still. She forced herself to get up, carrying it with her to the ruins if the school, where she could either see her love alive and well or finally give up. The debris tried to stop her, sharp little pieces digging into her, slashing at her like claws of a kitten. No matter how much it hurt and dug into her, she walked on. Once she was at the school, she went in the way the slayer went out, through the rooftop. It was tilted, and the top floor was cracked and full of lesions. She dropped through one of them, falling to her knees on the second floor. Pain surged through her, again distracting her, as her legs screamed from the impact.

Once it subsided, she stood, walking to the door, still feeling a twinge with every step. If Spike was alive, he wasn't going to be happy with her for jumping. She ripped at the stuck door with her diminishing strength, leaving bloody handprints on the edges of the frame. It didn't give, so she pulled harder, tearing at it with everything she had, nails ripping at it furiously. Finally, it gave way, with a loud groan as she stumbled her way down the through the caverns, looking for her love, not caring when she tore her dress on the rocks.

The evil was gone. She couldn't feel it, and there were no vampires here except her. No signs of life. There was a small pile of ashes, sitting in the stairwell. She was too late. Drusilla sobbed as she lay here, with the ashes of her love. Tears ran down her face, making the ashes into a sticky black paste. She'd hoped that her tears would bring him back again. All the king's horses and all the king's men, they couldn't put her Spike back together again. She just curled up around them letting tears fall and cover the ground, forming a pool. she'd been broken before, but it had never hurt this much, she'd never wanted it to end as much as she did now, while she stared into the end of her world, of what mattered to her.

Then, suddenly, they weren't there anymore. This was a terrible vision. She could see Spike, in his crypt, which wasn't destroyed. She breathed a sigh of relief. God, she loved him. He was alive! He was alive and the slayer was abusing him, but he was alive. She could still save him. They talked a while, her warning him about the as he's, and how she could feel them, could taste them. The sunlight would burn him from the inside.

When she couldn't convince him, she left, feeling absolutely terrible. Drusilla had to numb the pain. She had to make it stop. It was clawing at her, ripping and tearing like Daddy when he's angry. She saw a headstone shaped like a cross, and decided to stop the pain. The burn of the cross against her flesh hurt so much less. The pixies didn't think so though, because they ran away screaming, and the stars finally fell silent. She was finally alone. And if she shut her eyes, there was even less there to overwhelm her.

She cried out against the stone, feeling her flesh sizzling, her thoughts quiet at long last. That's what she liked about pain, it shut her down. She didn't have to think at all. The burn didn't let her own painful thoughts hurt her any longer. Physical pain was written into her past like a splatter of blood. She liked blood, it was when her heart hurt and she felt like the pages she'd been written on were being torn apart that she couldn't take it. In a way, it was pleasant, as she felt her thoughts spiral away into the smoke, a silhouette approaching her. She assumed that was a hallucination. Did she go that far already? She hadn't done that in a while, and after that, Daddy had forbidden her to go near holy water for years. Not to mention how he'd watched her.

Then, she felt the pain stop. Bloody hell! She had taken it too far, if it was already to the point that she couldn't feel it. No. It wasn't that, there were hands, gentle hands pulling her away from it. She hissed, assuming it was some human here to visit their long-lost relatives, and she was in the way. "You have to stop, love," she heard a voice in her ear, one she distinctly recognised as _not human_. She'd know that voice anywhere. But why had Spike come to pull her from the cross? Then she understood. That was what she wanted. This was all in her head. She would want him to come for her.

Then, still keeping her eyes shut, thinking when she opened them, the illusion would be lost, she felt something cool and soft slide over her shoulders. It smelled like leather and cigarettes and the moon, was that his coat? Oh, this was a delicious little hallucination. Then, there were arms, cradling her softly, carrying her somewhere, that temporarily brought the pain back, the arms not being able to avoid the large burns that had formed because of the low back of her dress. But that felt good because it chased the pixies away, and she was tired of the pixies and their reminders of that last, painful vision.

The next thing she felt was cold stone, and she could smell death. He'd taken her to a crypt. The hallucinations weren't usually this elaborate. She must really be burning. When she opened her eyes, He was there, but everything seemed dim, like it was projected onto a giant screen. Spike said something, and she couldn't hear it, because there was painful static inside her head, like she was burning too. The world appeared to be warping and cracking, stretching, until it all fell apart, and she screamed in agony.

She was back in the ruins of Sunnydale, sobbing feebly into the ashes of her love. That had been a delusion. A beautiful delusion, but now it was even harder to face, seeing what could have been. "No!" She cried again, her vision blurring with tears, she would stay here, just to make sure. Maybe this would take time; maybe the stars were testing her. If not, what was the point to anything. There was nothing for her to do now, so she would stay her until either it killed her, or she found a better way to go.

"Drusilla!" She heard his voice, "are you alright?" Had that been another vision? Which was real? Oh, she was so confused. Maybe she could pick which one was her reality. Then she wanted this one, a year earlier, when her William was alive, but in a dark place. Maybe she could save him. She opened her eyes and there he was, standing above her, looking worried. He was worried? That meant he still cared! But didn't he love the slayer? The worry in his eyes was hope for her. Hope that he might care. That he might be able to forgive her for choosing the world over him.

She kept watching the look in his eyes as she responded, "I wasn't there for long, just until it got steamy," she explained, "and the steam hid the stars and the ashes." The ashen taste was already coming back to her. He really didn't let her burn long. Fortunately she could still look at him, his features not yet marred by the burning she knew she would start to see as she healed. It hurt even more after the visions she'd had of his death, of how she would give up and stay with his ashes, probably until she died just from starvation. Served her right for letting him die. Now, she had the chance to stop him, and she planned to.

He looked taken aback, "you let yourself burn for me?" he asked, the words hanging between them like more smoke, making it even steamier. Oh, god, it was steamy right now, between his words and her. Did she want the air cleared or should she hide in the smoke? He'd started to pace, and it was putting her on edge, reminding her that he probably had the slayer waiting for him. He didn't belong to Drusilla anymore. He was the slayer's now, and she treated him like a toy. The toy soldiers had their knickknacks in his brain, and the sunshine had its grasp on his heart, killing him from the inside. But maybe, just maybe she could make it stop.

She nodded, "it felt better," she explained, feeling the pixies starting to return and buzz around her head with malicious glee. Any minute now she would start to see him burning, and the stars would come back, and that always made her head hurt. Not to mention how seeing him burn hurt, enough that she would have to hope he'd let her go for some more time on that cross. That felt good, the relief, her thoughts finally leaving her alone. "It hurts in a better way," she added, shutting her eyes as the ashen taste grew stronger, so she wouldn't have to watch when the burning started again.

She felt him come closer, close enough she could smell some of his smell over the overwhelming ashen smell that stung her throat and nose. He just stood there for a while, not saying anything,, and she risked opening her eyes to look at him. She wasn't yet healed enough that she could see him burn, but she could see indecision. The smoke was gone though, so she hoped he could see clearer now. The stars were just starting to shine, their whispers permeating her mind, telling her she couldn't do anything, couldn't save him, some telling her to try, others telling her to give up. She winced at the sudden intrusions to her mind. That's when his seemed to clear and the worry was back in his eyes, with a bunch of other things. "Do you think you could roll over so I can see it?" he asked, sounding concerned.

Drusilla obliged, hissing when one of the scabs that had formed tore and pain shot up her back, forcibly evicting the stars from her head. Maybe she could keep them out for a while just by moving. Spike looked at her for a long moment, slowly slipping his coat off of her so he could see it. "You need blood, princess," he said softly. He didn't seem to recognise that he'd used the endearment, but it gave her a little more hope. Just enough hope that she could look at Spike as he tried to puzzle out what to do. The little knickknack in his brain ruined any plans of going to get her food. Was he maybe going to let her bite him?

Spike sighed, offering her is neck. "I can't kill with the bloody chip in," he sighed, "will mine work?" Drusilla wanted to kiss him and tell him yes. She wanted to, but she couldn't, not yet. It would hurt her more if his blood was liquid ash and it made the burning and the stars come back. She couldn't bear that. As is, she could barely look at him out of the fear that she would have to watch his beautiful features combust one more time. She couldn't heal until he gave her a reason to want to, and after all these terrible visions, she'd only want to if she could be sure she could keep him from burning.

She shook her head. She wanted to taste his blood again, not ashes, not the sunshine and it's taint. She wanted her William, her Spike, but he wasn't hers anymore, and she couldn't do this, convince herself that he was hers and then let him rip away her illusions when he would die for the slayer. "I can't take what isn't mine," she told him sadly, eyes averting as the voices of the stars returned to weigh in on that, some screaming for her to take it, or to leave or—it was all too much. "No!" she cried out at the sky, or the roof of the crypt, as all the voices overwhelmed her, some even going so far as to tell her everything she was seeing, feeling right now was a lie, "No! Stop!"

Spike brought his neck closer to her, "you'll always be my sire, and the first woman I ever loved," he reminded her, a pleading look creeping into his eyes. Drusilla decided that getting him to admit it was enough of a success for now. He'd acknowledged that what they'd had was love, and she rejoiced a little as she let herself vamp out, and she clutched his neck. His blood tasted like the sky, and poetry and only slightly of ashes, maybe she could save him. Maybe he could be hers again…

He never could be, she realized as she lay there in the ashes, waiting for the pain to just kill her already. She'd failed him, and now she hoped, in death, she would have a second chance. Maybe she should find something faster, but right now, she didn't want to do anything but stay with the ashes of her love, feeling like he'd taken a lot of her with him when he died, her world, her heart. Now she was just broken pieces, finding her place at the side of the only man she'd ever loved, but it was too late. She'd never see him again. He'd never know that she still loved him. That thought caused her to sob harder.

From wherever he was now, Spike could see her. It hurt, seeing Drusilla so upset, curled up around his ashes, bleeding all over the place. Every bitter sob she made hurt him to watch. _What the bloody hell is this? _He wondered, _didn't reckon I'd go to hell after all that._ He tried to look away, but the little whimpers that she made hurt him, they broke his heart. Then, her face took on a sort of dreamy look, and she started to mutter things, things like "just until it got steamy," and "I can't take what isn't mine," before the illusion broke, and he watched her sob again. He would sell his newly won soul to take away her pain.

Spike looked around, not entirely sure where he was, but desperate to find her. He ran to where he saw her, feeling like he was connecting with a solid wall. This was just like that dream they'd shared, a century ago. He couldn't come in, he could only watch until he broke down, the pain his sire was feeling hurting him just as much as he watched her and cried as well. Spike felt so powerless, he'd saved the world, but he'd left her behind, and while he watched, he started to realize how much she meant to him.


	2. run and catch

**So, that was sad, and so's this, and a lot more, so bear with me for now… Eventually things will get better.**

"I love you," she said softly, stroking her hand over the ashes like she would run her hand down his body, not in a seductive way, but in a way that showed him that she loved all of him, outside and in. He was wonderful. Her poet, so strong and so gentle, always protecting her when Angelus got… well, when Angelus did what Angelus does best. He spent years saving her every day, reminding her what she had to live for, and now she let him die. God, how could she let him die? She loved him so much and she let him die, let him go. "Run and catch, run and catch," she murmured to the ashes.

No, that wasn't where she was. She was with her Spike. He'd broken things off with the slayer. She was in his crypt. She sat up, watching his sleeping form, and looking down to realize she was wearing his shirt. She loved the mark of belonging. She was his; she was even wearing his shirt to prove it. Those visions truly were terrible, toying with her mind. _Bad Stars! _Drusilla wondered why Miss Edith hadn't talked to them. There will be no cakes for Miss Edith today.

"Love?" Spike asked, and Drusilla turned to see he'd woken up, "nightmares again?" he always comforted her when she did have nightmares, held her, told her he loved her as she screamed and flailed, no more able to deter Angelus in her dreams than she was when it had happened. _Run and catch._ But her Spike loved her, and that was so long ago, so long, but she still bore his scars. She put her hand over them, as though denying them. "Does it hurt, princess?" he asked, concern sparking in his eyes.

Drusilla nodded mutely, wishing for what felt like the millionth time that someone would take them away. That if not whatever god or goddess governed this world, then Spike. Not that he would want to. She was his every other way, except in Marriage, and those were the two things she would never have. She should just be glad she was here and not in those terrible visions, and he was alive. "They always have," she said softly, holding his hand tightly, "can you take it away?" she begged.

Spike put his hand gently over the hand that Drusilla realized was still over her scars. "You would want me to?" he asked, looking surprised. He was always surprised at first when she asked anything of him. He never quite believed that she wanted him. She'd probably made sure of that by leaving. How could she explain to him how much she needed this, not even just wanted it anymore but needed it?

She kissed him softly, letting it show in her eyes just how much she loved him, how much she needed him to take the hurt way, replace it with love. "I need you to, love. I need to be yours," she told him, slipping his shirt off her shoulders, letting him see her. She was perfectly flawed in his eyes, so she knew the other scars that he saw wouldn't make a difference. It was just the two punctures on her neck that marked her, exerted a claim on her, that she knew made him uncomfortable, and made her see it all again.

Spike let his lips trail to just above them, and she winced, already seeing it, being taken back. Angelus was above her, evil intentions lighting up his eyes. His lips twisted up into a smirk as he tore her habit apart. The, Spike pulled back, and it stopped. She watched Spike's face shift, becoming the demon face. "You're sure about this?" He asked, his yellow eyes full of things she had never though t she would see in them. Even the demon in him loved her, and she forced herself to nod, knowing this was going to hurt until he took the pain away, and then she would be free.

She whimpered as his fangs grazed her neck. Angelus was above her, hands done tearing away her habit, now doing all manner of—and then it stopped. It was like it was all torn back. Like the memory fell apart and reality claimed her, or whichever reality this was, her love's fangs in her neck, taking it away. She cried out, feeling light, like she was flying, but she mustn't fly, because he was alive. God, it feels good, doing it all again, she swore she could hear her heart slowing down, beating in her ears. She held him tightly, feeling like she was in some sort of heaven. A twisted version for the soulless.

Then, it began to dim. The sensation started to fade, and the image started to blur. Desperate to hold herself in this reality, she pressed herself against her spike, telling him desperately that she loved him. He probably assumed the tears that he felt, running down her face, down her neck to meet his face were tears of joy, and they would be if she could still feel him, if the images weren't blurring. She prayed that the stars weren't taking her away again. No! No! They couldn't they couldn't take him from her again, run and catch, run and catch. It was like they were toying with her.

When her eyes opened, she was beside his ashes, and an exploratory touch of her hand to her scars told her none of that had been real. She sobbed harder, knowing that this could have been true, but she'd been so sodding selfish, and she chose the world instead of him, her world. Or did that make her selfless? Either way, it hurt. She lay, curled up around the ashes, sobbing out the pain she felt. None of that was real. She's been lying to herself the entire time. This had all been a lie. A beautiful lie. Nothing but reality could hurt her this much. She reached desperately up to her scars, trying to at least relieve a part of the pain, her nails digging into her neck, trying to claw off the scars.

"No!" she cried, "No! Get it out!" and she slashed harder, the pain a delightful respite from the other pain. It didn't make it better, but it pushed it away, it pushed everything away and demanded to be seen. She watched as her blood mixed with the ashes, and that made her feel a surge of the bad sort of pain, the kind that incapacitated her, made her want to fly so she could make it all go away. She sobbed into his ashes, seeing blood and ash combining, wishing he was real, and he could taste it, her undead life, pouring from the small, already healing slashes she'd left, only shallow. She had to look alright so she could fly.

Then, all the pain started to leave her body, and she felt the pleasant sensation of his lips on her neck. Which was real? Both, neither? Was this her fate, constantly flipping between the best and worst of times? Spike kissed the scars gently, and she didn't see Angelus, she just felt a rush of pleasure, arching into his body and gasping in pleasure. "Oh, God! Love!" she cried out, the worst of the hallucinations seeming like just a bitter memory, a terrible, terrible trick. There was no way anything her mind created could feel this good. Her mind was a dark place, unlike Spike's lips, which were the cure for her dark thoughts, pulling her from the memories with his sweet words and kisses. This couldn't be a figment of her imagination.

Spike smiled, blood still on his mouth, "still one more thing left," he said softly, drawing her nail across his skin, making a little line of red blood. Blood, gushing and flowing in little drops. He was going to sire her, just like she wanted him too since the night she sired him. She was going to start again, start fresh, with him. When she licked at the line of blood, the little sounds he made, she loved them. She was so bloody lucky to be here, right now, holding her love. This second chance was exactly what she'd always needed, everything she'd never dared ask for. After this, there was no way she could leave. Unless they could find another champion, this forever would be forever found in a little over a year, and forever wherever vampires went after they died. Forever in a finite amount of time. She was sure Spike could turn that into beautiful poetry, sweet as his blood.

Finally, she pulled away, feeling light, finally, feeling free. She hadn't felt free since she discovered her visions, but now, she finally did, and it was beautiful. She loved him so much, so much that this time, the world around her shattered like glass, and she looked down at herself, covered in blood. She was covered in it, bleeding out, all over the hard stone floor. She watched as the Spike from the better reality got up and stood matter of factly before her, the glow already starting to form. "I want to see how it ends," he said, and she looked away, still seeing it, after al the visions, is was burned into her eyes. She got up, pulling him close, sobbing into him, hoping the water of her tears would quell the fire that burned him from the inside and her from the heart.

The burn seared her skin as it did his, her star going like a supernova, in a burst of light and heat and love, consuming her. She relished the burning, becoming ash, joining her love in death, finally, instead of having to fly. Then, burning subsided to a type of numbness, which, in turn, subsided into a chill, and she was there again, on the floor, crying for him to save her. Not that he could, because he was dead, she was to blame, and there were footsteps nearby. She curled protectively over the ashes, enfolding protectively over them, enveloping them.

Her sire walked down the stairs, finding Drusilla on the floor, and the necklace, the one the champion was supposed to wear laying in a corner. She barely noticed as Angel picked the necklace up and then turned to face her. "Drusilla?" he asked, looking confused. He wondered what she was doing here. The hurt he saw in her eyes called to the Angelus part of him, which in turn inspired a surge of guilt. Every time he saw her, he had to face some of the worst of his existence. He couldn't—perhaps she'd thank him later, and she did need the help, didn't she?

Drusilla growled at him, not bothering to sit up. The champion was to be a vampire with a soul. Her sire could finally have given her the life she deserved, but instead he only gave her more pain. Drusilla tried to choke the words out, "the champion could have set me free, but instead it's all burning," she glared at him, "and it's all broken, but the pieces are too small to matter and big enough to cut," she sobbed, hating how weak she felt, how alone she was now, the pixies spinning around gleefully.

Angel cringed, hearing something accusatory to the confusing words. He knew that this was her fault. Had he not met her, she would have died reasonably content, human. Instead, he broke her, and now, Spike's death had brought it out. H knew Drusilla, she would stay her until she starved, or the room broke and crushed her, or something came along and ate her. She wouldn't leave. She needed help, and he needed to make sure that, in her grief she didn't go, say, murder a small town of people. Really, he was doing this for her own good, so one of the newly called slayers didn't do something more permanent. "Drusilla, we have to go," he said flatly.

Drusilla sobbed harder, screaming, "No! You can't take this from me! You took everything! You can't have this! William is the one thing you never took from me," she curled up around the ashes, sobbing into her dress, "Run and catch. But there's nowhere left to run," she said, sounding confused, as she continued to hold the ashes of her world, of her love. She just wanted to stay here, with her William, and join him. She was already dying, not feeding, bleeding from the trip down here, from clawing at herself relentlessly. Perhaps she didn't need to fly. Perhaps she could just fade.

Angel sat down reluctantly, "I'll give you some time to say goodbye," he said, sighing as he did. He just wanted this to be over, this whole thing. But he wasn't going to get her out of here until she calmed down a little, at least, not without both of them getting hurt. He just hoped goodbyes didn't take too long. If they took much more than a couple hours, he would just have to carry her out, fighting or not. He had to get the necklace back home so they could see if it worked, and he couldn't have Drusilla find out about that. If it did, and they found each other, things could get… well, the world had just been saved, and he didn't want those two endangering it again. Not to mention, he really wasn't in the mood for the fights with Spike that those two talking seemed to lead to.

Spike whaled on the wall between them harder, wanting to take his sire into his arms and make everything alright. He was stifling tears, barely stifling them, wondering where Angel was going to take her. If he hurt her again, Spike thought angrily, then I'm going to find a way back, and she can dance on his ashes. But Spike knew right now, he was the reason for the sobbing she was doing, curled around his remains, talking to them softly. He wanted to take her pain away, but if he couldn't do that, he wished he could stop seeing all this.

He didn't understand why this hurt like it did, seeing his sire crying over his death. Bitterly, he noted that the slayer, who said she loved him wasn't there. He hadn't seen her at all. Why was it that Drusilla was the one who came back, and she came back too late for him to be there for her, for him to do anything but lament on how right things would have been if she hadn't left. He could be holding her now, and they could be far from sunnyhell, far from whatever hell this was. Instead, here they were, divided by the wall he could only assume existed between the living and the dead, neither of them coping very well.


	3. We all fall down

**So, this was difficult to write, difficult to edit and hard in general. The plot I have made it worth the pain for me… I hope it is for you, because I'm not writing this for oddly masochistic, let's method-write stuff that hurts reasons. It will get better! **

Drusilla just lay there, praying for another delusion to sweep her up, and make William's ashes whole again, for a short time. She looked suspiciously at Angel, wanting to ensure he had his soul. If he didn't, then she feared what he had come here to do. Perhaps the world was punishing her. But what did she ever do? "What did I do?" She asked softly. Predictably, nothing answered her. Nothing could answer her. The powers still owed her; they shouldn't be taking everything away. No, that was just what Angelus did. Her sire. She ripped at the scars a little more with her nails, trying to obscure them. She wasn't his sodding masterpiece, no! No! Where was Spike? He could hold her and—no, he was dead because she'd let him die. Oh, god. No wonder the world had done this to her. She let him die.

Angel sighed, walking somewhere she wouldn't hear him, hoping she'll hurry up. Patience was never his strong suit, and he just wanted this done. Perhaps they would be able to help her, but either way, she wouldn't be killed by one of the many slayers roaming free. That's a positive. He just had to keep thinking that way. She may not be happy to go with him, but it was for her own good. After everything Angelus did, he thought maybe this as long overdue. She'd been insane for over a century, encroaching on a century and a half. He'd done that. It made him sick to sink about it, just how much he'd done wrong, terribly wrong. She was like the spot on Lady Macbeth's hands. Long after he'd found a way to atone, she arrived and it was like he was still no better. _Out damned spot! _He couldn't look at her knowing what he'd done, so maybe, helping her would mean he wouldn't be faced with it.

Drusilla closed my eyes, and another hallucination overtook her. These awful visions had been plaguing her, but now she was safe. She was with Spike, after all. With a couple exploratory strokes, she discovered her scars no longer hurt. Spike had taken that pain away. He always seemed to take it away. That was why this was real. Delusions didn't hide pain; they just made it grow, hidden, like a tumor. They made it eat you from inside. No vision could be complete enough that she wouldn't feel at least something when she touched her scars.

Spike smiled when he saw her stroking her scars, trying to prove to herself that it was real. "A month and they're still..." She knew what he wondered. After a month, a month! She even had little teasing memories of the month they'd had! But, as his hand stroked over her scars, there was nothing. No darker memories. Nothing but his love. How had she doubted the... Well, the reality to this? Surely, no delusion coming from the recesses of her mind could be this beautiful. Everything beautiful in her life was taken from her, if not by death, by circumstances. Even the time she'd tried having a kitten. That had ended poorly. The poor little thing had been the first thing taken from her. First of many. And then blood and death and pain. She didn't like pain then. It didn't ease her mind. She was such a naïve girl, innocent to a fault, until then…

"A month and they're still yours, love." She kissed him softly, pulling him close. Whether or not this was real, she was going to relish every moment of this. Maybe this was reality, and the other visions, of lying among the ashes, a questionably ensouled Angelus come to visit her, were to make her appreciate this. Something so terrible sounded like the kind of thing her mind would produce. Bad pixies! Playing with her so! Their trickery would always have to be inside her mind. Between them and the sodding stars always telling her lies mixed with the truth, she had no peace. Not a sodding moment, except when he made her thoughts go away. And the stars thought that was a lie too, but she remembered it. The stars were playing with her. Damn, they must be playing the same game the pixies so loved.

Spike smiled, an oddly William-like expression in his eyes. He rustled for something in his pockets, looking even a little nervous. The pixies were supposed to tell her what it was, but they thought she'd like the surprise. Little traitors! "Close your eyes, love," he said softly, and she complied, trusting him completely. He was the only one she would ever trust so completely. There was a lot that could be done in even a moment of vulnerability, but Spike wasn't the type to hurt her. There was no way he would hurt her, anyway. He'd apologise if he gave her a paper cut. Then she'd make him kiss it better for Princess, and he would drink it. See, blood and pain, but it didn't have to be bad.

She felt something cool sliding onto her ring finger, and tried to ask the pixies, could it be? Could this really be happening? She smiled, excitedly. Was he going to propose to her? "Open your eyes," she heard him say softly, and she did, seeing him on his knees before her. Drusilla looked down at him in complete awe, seeing the love in his eyes, and something else: a plea. "Drusilla, I've been yours for a century and a quarter now, you're my lover, my sire, and even my saviour. Would you- would you make me the happiest man on earth, would you marry me?"

She didn't even hesitate, think even a little. She didn't consider that she was a vampire, and this was so human of them both to want it. No, none of that mattered. "Of course!" She exclaimed him, pulling him up and kissing him passionately, "oh, William, Spike, of course I will!" She couldn't believe this. He loved her. He was going to marry her. Could anything be more perfect?

She'd dreamed of this since she was a little girl. Even when she'd gone to the convent, a part of her had wished for someone who would come and save her from the demon that followed her. She thought that dream had been broken when she had. Even if she could trust any of them, who would want her? She was beautiful, but insane and after Angelus sired her, she wasn't fit to don the white dress and pretend to have her innocence still. But here she was, a century and a quarter later, and Spike was making another of her forgotten dreams come true. What couldn't he do? Even now, the stars fell silent in awe, gasping at the surprise. Her William had surprised the stars. She was so bloody lucky…

The next couple of weeks were full of planning, and inviting guests, and even Willow took her dress-shopping. Really, after Drusilla's seer-abilities helped her to change Tara's fate, it was the least she could do, she said. It was almost like those weeks flew by in a matter of minutes. Planning was just a big whirlwind that swept through, leaving everything better in its wake? Wake, oh, no, these were not the kind of dreams you woke from. She mustn't wake. Absolutely mustn't.

The big day was beautiful. It was to be a small ceremony, a couple of vampires they'd befriended a while ago, Clem, Willow (who better to be married by than a soon-to-be goddess), Tara and Anya. Anya was there in case anyone needed vengeance, of course. Her faith in weddings after her own went that badly was... Well, nonexistent. This was a job for her, lest Spike leave or go back to the slayer. Not that he would, but Anya didn't trust anyone anymore. Drusilla supposed being a demon did that to a person. Anya heard screams, Drusilla heard stars. Maybe they should bond over the unwanted voices in their heads?

Drusilla slid walked down the aisle, which was lit by little candles and little hovering things that looked like stars. Her dress, lacy and elegant, like something from her time, glimmered beautifully under the light. Finally, she felt perfect, like everything had come together, finally. This was everything she'd ever wanted. She had never felt more alive, certainly not since she'd begged to die, probably not even in the happier part of her life. It was more than a dream, it was a miracle.

And it flickered for a moment, but only a moment. She didn't even stumble, her eyes holding Spike's. When she got up to the front of the room, beside him, it flickered again, but she didn't miss a beat. This was real. It had to be. She kept thinking resolutely. This could be real for her, if she made it real. If it wasn't real, she could hold it in her hands and feel it in her heart. No, cursed song lyrics. It was the other way. If it wasn't real, she couldn't feel it. And oh, could she feel this. It didn't flicker again until she said, "I do," and Willow informed Spike that he may kiss the bride. It flickered twice in succession as he leaned in.

He kissed her, and first, she felt his cool lips ghosting on hers, before she deepened the kiss, and it flickered. She could feel ash, hot, suffocating ash. It was killing her! His lips were burning, and they were going to die after they'd just been married. Was it the lord striking down the two soulless vampires who dared marry? No. Everything she'd believed as a girl contradicted this. This was the stars. She opened her eyes and looked around her, seeing everything aflame, including her husband. She screamed, again and again, sobbing as it all went to ashes around her. Crumbling to the ground and she refused to see.

That was all a lie. She was eerily calm for a moment, looking around, seeing a shocked Angel trying to carry her off. Then, huger eyes connect with the ashes of her love. That small pile of ashes. The scars on her neck were of her sire, and there was no ring on her finger. "No!" She cries, breaking down, whatever small sanity she had shattering. She could have had everything. Here she is, left with nothing. She kicked and screamed, fighting to break free of his arms. She wanted to stay with his ashes, but if she couldn't do that, she would like to fly, join him in death. But here her sire was, doing as he did best, taking everything away.

Angel didn't see it that way. He'd known since he was cursed that he had to do something about the vampire he'd sired. She would have been committed if he hadn't killed her and made her a vampire. His 'masterpiece'. He wondered if that would have helped, but it probably wouldn't. Asylums in that time had been like dingy, grimy zoos. People would have gone to watch her talk of her stars, and jeered and laughed, and she would have wasted away slowly on the meager provisions. Assuming she would have eaten. She didn't eat after her first kill for nearly a month. Darla had mocked him, told him she knew he'd brought home a broken one. _This one was broken enough that she didn't even talk_, she'd said.

Drusilla sobbed into her sire, clawing at him, at her own scars, just wanting to make it stop. She couldn't make it stop! The stars were laughing, gleefully as she sobbed and ripped, and Angelus just kept walking. She screamed for one moment more, for him to leave her to die. But he kept walking, doing as he always did, taking everything away, as he always did. The trek up the edge of the crater took, she guessed twenty minutes. Eventually, she slackened in his grip, apologizing to Spike for being weak, for choosing the world, for letting Angelus carry her out.

Once out of the crater, she twisted out of his arms. It was time for Drusilla to take matters into her own hands, to fly. She ran at the edge of the canyon, prepared to leap from the edge, see if she could find the peace, the love in death that eluded her in life. It couldn't be worse than this was now. Perhaps Hell would be nice, even. Earth had been Hell, so what could Hell do to her now? She didn't want to fight. She was done fighting. All her life had been a battle against memories and visions and Angelus. Now she was going to forfeit.

Angel wasn't going to let it all end here. He seized her ankle, pulling her back. She stopped fighting, sobbing as he dragged her to the strange van, black with blacked out windows. The kind of van children are perpetually told not to enter. Lest they come out less of a child. She wondered if Miss Edith was nervous to go in, but the thought subsided as she started screaming again. Drusilla was laid in the back seat, still screaming for Spike, William, whichever name he would respond to. He never did, so she lay, forsaken on the soft, padded walls of the van, as Angel addressed the driver.

"This the one you told me about?" The driver asked gruffly, looking warily through the metal screen at his sobbing passenger. She didn't look as he'd pictured her, someone Angelus had claimed to be his greatest crime. But when the ensouled vampire nodded, he asked a more important question: "she human?" He looked back again warily. If she was a vampire, a damaged vampire at that there was a stop he'd pull over at to see if the slayers could end her pain. It wasn't worth almost getting everyone killed back at work. No matter how intriguing it would be to learn about what Angelus was capable of…

Angel paused, looking at her. On one hand, if he told them she was, she could be safe, except that they would starve her. If he told them what she was, they might turn her in to the slayers. Maybe, they could get her help and release her before she starved. They would try, "yeah, she's human," he told the driver, shutting the door, letting fate do the rest.

Drusilla pounded on the walls and door, trying desperately to get out. She left a part of her behind there, in the crater with his ashes. Ashes ashes, but they never let her fall down. That's all she wanted, to finally escape, but now, here she lay on the back of this van, wondering why they couldn't just let her fall. In the end, her place was just there, among the ashes, the ashes he took her from.


	4. Part two: drown my will to fly

**Well, this should come as no surprise, but the end of (some of) the pain is near… not here though.**

_Don't want to let it lay me down this time, drown my will to fly…  
-Lithium by Evanescence_

Drusilla didn't move as they carried her into an austere, gray building in the countryside. She just looked up at the gradually lightening sky, apologizing again and again to him, letting the tears stream down her face. She barely noticed as they carried her into the facility, one for those who were victims of anything supernatural. It was where they locked their 'special cases', the ones they couldn't fix. And all the little pieces falling shatter, shards she could never again piece back together. Shards that would never be reconciled into a person. The only reason she'd come back together was because he had—the tears began all over again, remembering how he had helped her all those days when she woke screaming. He'd held her close, whispered softly how he loved her, made her feel nothing short of perfect. He'd still loved her even though she was broken so many ways, even though sometimes she left, he would always welcome her back, help her when she had an anxiety attack ,or a delusion and tried to go on rampage.

And now it was her fault he'd never do it again. They sat her down at a table, asked her easy questions like her name, who sent her here, that sort of thing. She wasn't sure they'd been able to understand her answers, but they never asked again. The man asking her questions clicked something on the glowing screen he had sitting in his hands, and she saw an image, a black splotch, like spilled ink, like a cloud of ash. She sobbed as the image swirled around her, screaming at him frantically, "stop! Please, please make it stop!" she didn't deserve for it to stop. That made her sob harder, and she looked up at the ceiling, seeing aches cover the stars, seal her away, "I'm so sorry, love, I'm so sorry. I let you die." She continued to wail and flail, trying to break free of the cloud of ash. It seemed her survival instinct was just as strong as it always was.

The man changed the screen, and this ink was also black, but more fluid. It almost looked like a heart, except with parts missing. It was what the sunshine had done to him. She'd burned him, torn out his heart and returned it back missing pieces. "Oh," she said softly, feeling like she'd been slammed in the stomach by something immense. She couldn't breathe as she stared at the horror before her. "I would have held it," she whispered, "protected it like you protected me. What has she done to you?" she asked softly, "what have I done?" she broke down, sobbing, covering her eyes childishly, as though covering her eyes would make it less real. She could still see it, pulsating like it was still beating before her eyes. She sank lower into her chair, not able to take seeing what the sunshine had done to her love's heart, as well as his body, burned all of him, tore away the demon and shoved a soul where it didn't belong, but the worst damage was here, in his heart. The doctor wrote something down, and then continued on to the third blot. He needed at least three results.

The third blot was just as bad. It looked like a person, two people actually, facing something that looked like a void, the lines that made them up blurred and deformed. Then, she could see it turning red, hear his voice telling her goodbye in a vaguely mocking tone. "No!" She cried out, "make it stop," she crumpled to the ground, "Spike! Please, love," she begged, sobbing. Her sire took her away, but she could have stopped it. She couldn't deal with this, seconds until she had to watch him die. She needed the pain to stop. Needed an end. She closed her eyes, nails slashing a path of crimson regret up her arms as the doctor shut the lights off and two strong men restrained her, making her pain stop. She should've been the other person, if she wasn't going to save him. She should have held his hand as they became dust, two vampires saving this human world. But here she was, alone and bleeding from the inside, as though he'd taken part of her when he died.

"Why did you do that?" The doctor asks coldly, no trace of emotion to his voice at all. Drusilla flinched. His voice was like steel, cold and unwavering. Angelus so loved steel, his soul was made of it, cold and hard and far from him. Distant like her Spike was from her. So far away, like the stars, but spike wasn't in her head, pain was. Bad pain. Not the easy kind in her arms. That pain was simple. She was hurt, so she bled and it hurt. She could control it, slash deeper to make it stronger, feed to make it fade. This was so far beyond her control, all of her screaming, reeling from the loss, the guilt, the anguish. She needed the simpler, easier pain to quiet the screaming. Oh, how it hurt to scream and go unheard.

She shook her head, "no. I needed it to stop! Stop! Spike!" she sobbed again, curling up into a little ball, sadly shaking her head. The men had slipped some sort of gloves over her hands so she wouldn't claw herself. "It's my fault," she whispered, "he saved the bloody world and I never got to tell him." She looked up at the ceiling, where her stars mocked her. They knew, oh they knew. They were telling her what she did, throwing everything in her face. He stars served a cruel master: justice. They would torture her; give her what she deserved unless she finally left, went far away to Hell, where, just maybe, she could find solace. Solace, but not Spike. Those with souls go up into heaven. It was another thing that had been taken from her, another thing that would never be hers. She didn`t deserve to go there.

The doctor squinted, "so who was this spike?" He asked, wondering if this was the girl Angel had told him about. It was a good thing she was human, or he'd be really scared. Normally the small, initiative side-project didn`t take referrals from vampires, but he`d studied Angelus. For anyone who he considered to be his greatest crime, the doctor would make an exception. Of course, the souled vampire had likely exaggerated. She was still human, according to him, which meant she'd been spared at least one thing. No wonder the poor girl was so…so crazy, though he hated the connotation on the word.

Drusilla sobbed a little more, ripping at the gloves, using the little pieces of black fabric to wipe her eyes. "He was the sun and I the moon, and we danced around the earth and kissed on the horizon. And we spun and rotated and loved each other each moment. But the sun burned for the earth. He burned, and the moon only watched, but could have stopped it. Now the sun is gone and the moon bleeds and the earth just turns, turns like nothing happened. The moon only shines because he does, but the moon shouldn't shine." She broke down and crumpled into a ball, not wanting the stranger to see her so upset, so vulnerable. anywhere her sire sent her, she would trust no one.

The doctor wrote a few words on his clipboard. He figured she was another seer. All the deaths they saw, they always seemed to be checking in here. "So to saw this vampire die and it upset you?" He asked gently. Poor girl. This must have been her first vision. No wonder she was upset. That would have been a traumatic vision for someone so young. She looked to be about nineteen. Her eyes looked older, but the rest of her was just a young girl. Probably younger than his daughter, who he'd sent to university three short years ago. But her eyes looked older than even his. They looked ancient, like they'd suffered the abuse of centuries, of time and many, many wrongs. He shook his head, He _knew_ she was human. But she didn't look or act like it.

Drusilla collapsed, past words, not even having the will to tear the men apart. She sobbed out the confession bitterly "he was mine. He saved me and I pushed him away. I let him die," she sobbed harder, taking the offered box of tissues from one of the men who'd restrained her. He silently hated it when the younger victims came in, ones he knew should be young and carefree. And she seemed young to them, she recognised. His mind was full of boring platitudes, about her not deserving to be here. It wasn't fair. She should be either with Spike, waiting for the end to come, or in Hell, suffering for it.

The doctor had her story figured out. A young seer, probably living in Sunnydale five years ago, had a run in with Angelus. This had to be the one his souled counterpart sent. Spike was a vampire who was there at the time, so perhaps he stopped Angelus from turning her. Then her first vision, half a decade not only raised bad memories of Angelus, but she saw the vampire who saved her die. "You didn't push him away. He made his choices, and saved the world. He's happy where he is." The doctor scrawled out a request for her, a couple medications, one to dull the pain, the other to put her visions at bay until she could recover. Only low-dosage, because that meant, though scared, though upset, it couldn't be as bad as he'd initially thought.

Happy. Yeah, right. Spike wasn't much happier than she was. What kind of heaven was this if he was stuck seeing her? Sure, from time to time he'd see someone: his mum, Tara, Joyce, Anya a couple of times, but it didn't help. He couldn't see Buffy; he assumed he wasn't meant to. He couldn't see anything, anyone except what hurt most.

All he saw was Drusilla. He watched as his sire was transported to the California 'facility for hst-related trauma'. It was a side project to the initiative, for the damaged. He watched the doctor asking her blunt questions as she screamed, cried, collapsed. Her arms slashed, bleeding and wounded. She had more nail marks over her scars, like she'd tried to slash them off. He wished he could take her away from the asylum they were throwing her into, take the pain away. He wanted to forget the five years they'd been apart, and make this pain go away, make her happy again, his again. He wanted to kiss over all the slashes until they healed, make her okay. Maybe she'd leave again, maybe not, but he could get her out of this hell.

God, he loved her. When the slayer had finally said the words he'd been waiting years for, living to hear, he'd seen something, like a glow. He'd seen Drusilla begging the stars for more time, to take her instead, anything. Tears running down her face as she cried out pleaded, did everything. Then, finally, she'd given up, sobbing his name, holding a shirt he swore he'd lost hears ago, just as he used to lay in the closet where she'd left her things and pretend that he was with her. He could see it in her eyes, something burning her in a different way than he knew he would soon burn. Spike had seen the pain that his death was causing her, that knowing it had caused her. "And the sun burns to ash and the moon fades and bleeds," she had whispered, "fate breaks all things," she'd remarked bitterly, and then looked at him, tears in her eyes, a deep gash on her arm, "I love you, William."

Then he looked back at the slayer. Yeah, maybe it was true; he'd always thought it was, insisted at one point. Maybe in her way, she loved him, but it seemed so… it was like he'd been vying for something all this tome only to learn that it wasn't what he wanted. Assuming she wasn't saying this out of pity, he still couldn't get the image of Drusilla out of his head. She plead with the stars for something to get him just another year, a few more days, even if it would cost her everything. Nothing compared to that, that she would be willing to take his place, after not even seeing him for five years. They were just five out of a century and a quarter. "No you don't," he told Buffy, knowing that after what he'd seen, he could hardly say it back, "but thanks for saying it." And now, he had never gotten a glimpse of her. Only now, he realized how much Drusilla had really meant to him. How he loved her, somehow, and now he was dead and could never say it.

Drusilla lay on the bed of the soft foamy room she was sent to. She hated it. They'd given her a green pill that made the stars go away. It also made her feel empty, like there was nothing left. She felt nothing, cold, hollow. She couldn't let go, she wanted to keep him. She wanted to stay in love with spike, with the sorrow he left in his wake, and it wasn't letting her, it was like a sodding dam, holding it all back, so she couldn't feel anything, none of 9the immense sorrows that she'd been surrounded by. Numbness wasn't better than pain. Numbness brought guilt. She deserved the pain, it was her consequence, and she needed to grieve, but all she was left with was a perplexingly hollow feeling and crippling guilt that she couldn't feel anything in spite of the potent drug.

The blue one, she'd yet to find a reason for. She couldn't feel the pain in her cuts, so she assumed it was a painkiller. Another thing she didn't deserve. The absence of pain gave the guilt more space, more of her mind to toy with like a cat and a mouse, batting her around mercilessly, knowing any moment it could consume her. The door creaked open, a hand on the doorknob being all she could see if the person there. "Love?" She heard a familiar voice ask, "I've returned." She'd know that voice anywhere.

Could it be?

Did she dare hope?

**Yes, these are based off real ink blots that I found on google images, cause, y'know if it's on google it **_**has **_**to be legit. I put the links on my profile… And this is dedicated to my dear friend William, because he helped me with editing something *shiver* unpleasant, and I owe him.**


	5. Like I Still Burn

**So, this… well, this. Bear in mind this is a delusion, and not Spike….**

When he entered the room, she looked at him for a long moment, seeing scars where the sunlight burned him, marking him just as she did. She wanted to kiss the small scars and make them hers. She wanted him to be hers, but she'd pushed him away, so hard that she couldn't do anything to pull him back. He'd destroyed who he was and died for the sunlight, what hold could she have on him? That made tears continue their little path down her face, she couldn't take this, if he was here just to visit before he went back to shagging the slayer. He still had the soul he'd gotten for her. Had nothing changed since they'd last spoken? Was he still willing to kill her for the slayer?

"Love?" he asked softly, approaching her. "Are you alright?" Was she alright? She was numb enough she couldn't feel him, couldn't feel a sodding thing. She couldn't see the stars, or hear them in her head, or converse with the pixies. She was falling apart at the seams and she couldn't fight it any longer. She broke down, emotion breaking like a flood through the dam of the medication. She sobbed bitterly to herself. He was here, but he'd never be hers. She'd hurt him too much, she'd pushed him away. But he wasn't even angry. He wasn't going to kill her for the slayer. A part of her thought that was what she deserved, thought she didn't say it.

"Don't cry, love," Spike said softly, coming a little closer, so she could practically touch him. It was wrong though. She couldn't feel him, or smell him. She supposed that was another side effect of the medicine. Weren't the pills supposed to make things better? These just hurt. They always did. She reached for him, feeling only cold when she touched his hand. She screamed, trying to feel him, to feel something. She couldn't. It was like where there should be Spike, there was just cold air, she couldn't feel him in her hand, couldn't feel anything but cold. He looked at her mournfully. "Going to let go?" He asked her cruelly. "Reckon that's what you always do," he added, something sparking in his eyes as he said it. There were dragons in his eyes, but the old dragons had liked her, and these just wanted her to burn like he had burned. She supposed the dragons were just being just.

Her sobbing increased as his words struck her, "no, Spike, I never-" she stopped speaking. She had pushed him away. "I was wrong," she sobbed, "I saved the sodding world when I should have let it burn." She curled up on the bed they'd given her, looking small and fragile. She could never fix what she'd broken, his trust, and his love for her. And all the little pieces falling shatter. And they cut too deep for her to pull them back together, so deep that she didn't even bleed. She hadn't felt the broken pieces so sharp, so shattered since they were her own. And He put them together, despite that she'd been apart, strewn for years. She hadn't been able to pull together the shards alone, something that hadn't changed. This time, he was more interested in breaking them than in pulling them together. It was what she deserved.

"You mean like I burned?" Spike asked her brutally, "like I," he took a step closer, "still," he took another step, "burn?" he asked, pulling her up with his icy hands, throwing his head back, beginning to glow from within. He made a soft little sound, saying the wrong name, the slayers name falling from his lips reverently, as he burned. That hurt her as much as watching him burn did, that he said the slayer's name. The sunshine, as the ink had shown her, had entered his mind first, and then burned into his heart, wrapping her burning fingers around his heart, digging sharp nails into it, tearing into it like she wanted to see how much she could tear him apart. She burned him from the inside, made him want to tear it out, eventually made him burn. And Drusilla caused that to happen by leaving him. The stars had told her it would save the world, but she didn't like the world anymore.

She sobbed, trying to feel, but she couldn't feel his hand, only the hot spray of ash as it coated her, his ash, but it wasn't hers anymore. He wasn't hers, but it was she who burned from his ashes coating her. She tore at the walls of the asylum, tearing free the stuffing and fabric and everything she could. The door opened and she heard a soft voice telling her to stop, making a note to increase her medication. "No!" she screamed. "I don't need it! I don't want to be numb!" she cried out, pressing herself into the corner, away from the other woman. She pressed her face against the cold brick, soothing the burning sensation his ashes caused. No. no that wasn't right. He burned, and she needed to feel it. That pain was what she deserved, and it made the rest of what she was feeling more bearable, because it took her thoughts.

The nurse sighed. Seers always seemed to be difficult about things. They thought they were chosen specially, and never seemed to take their medication. She rolled her eyes. "Would-what did you call him? Spike want you locked in here crying and tearing everything to shreds?" she asked, frustrated. She was certain they'd sent her to deal with the new arrival because she'd botched things and accidentally gave the laughing man on the third floor a little too much of one of his meds. Still, he was the most compliant one there that day. Didn't argue, or make that scary, Joker-esque laughing, or really do much at all. And she gets stuck on the arrivals floor, with some seer who's probably going to tell her about her imminent doom. She'd heard enough about her doom recently.

Drusilla hadn't thought he'd ever want her to hurt but he'd said it. He'd told her he still burned. That's what she deserved then, was it not? She did let him burn. He'd died for the world, but only because she never let herself look back, go back. "I deserve to burn," she wept, curling up in the corner, "I deserve to burn just like he did, like I let him burn." She crumpled to the ground like a broken doll. She didn't hare words for what she was going through right now, how much she wanted it to be over, so she could just get out of here and make it stop. She looked around her and crawled back into the wall, not wanting the stranger to see her crying, to see her at all. In this world, no one could know your weakness, lest they exploit it. Only Spike could see her like this, and of course, Daddy had already seen her like this. Spike never liked that.

The nurse just sighed, muttering about how they really should have sent Michela. She was not good with the new arrivals. They screamed and cried, and sometimes destroyed things. She preferred them once they were able to talk coherently, not that seers did much of that. And she'd never seen one go off quite like this one, crying and destroying and holy crap, was she ever slashed up. She wondered how much something would have to hurt for someone to see this as a better way out. "You do not deserve to burn. He chose it, not you. Please stop tearing that, I have to fix it later," she said flatly, adding it into her string of generic platitudes. They really didn't pay her enough. She had never seen anyone, not even the man determined he was a demon, manage to get inside the walls.

Drusilla just tore a bigger hole, slipping inside the thick padding that coated the walls, laying against stained grey concrete, covered by fabric and foam. There, she just curled up and wished Angelus hadn't stopped her from jumping. She didn't belong here. She should just have died; she deserved to burn in Hell, just like he burned. Oh, god, he had burned. She could still feel it on her face, condemning almost, searing her. This was worse than Hell could be. At least, in Hell, the other pain would be enough to take her mind off things. Here, on Earth, that was not a mercy she was given.

The nurse shook her head. "I'm not cleaning that up," she said dismissively, leaving the room. Once she was outside, she scrawled a few more things out, like an order for gloves or something so the seer didn't destroy anything else. Or herself. The nurse had never seen anyone that… well, upset didn't cut it.

Spike had seen the whole thing; Drusilla had looked at the door and gasped a little, like there was something there, at the door. He just liked seeing her looking happy, incredulous, but happy. She eventually turned from the door and broke down again. If Spike was there, he would have pulled her into his arms, tried with everything he and to make her okay. He knew she never would be, but he could try to console her. That's what he did last time he saw her so upset. Granted, that was after a particularly vivid dream she'd had about her sire. And he held her while she first cried and then raged and tried to remove Angelus' mark, rather forcefully. He hadn't let her hurt herself, despite that it took a week before his hands looked quite like they used to from trying to restrain her.

"no, Spike, I never-" Spike?! It was him, or an imagined version of him doing this to her? he closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more, not wanting to know how twisted her imaginary Spike was. "I was wrong," she sobbed, "I saved the sodding world when I should have let it burn." He didn't even have to look at her to hear the tears in her voice, to want to take her delusion-Spike and forcibly knock some sense into him. He didn't hurt her. He would kill anyone else for causing her that kind of pain, but there was no one to kill, he wasn't even alive. And what do you do when the villain is yourself? This was Spike's question as he slowly let his eyes flicker open.

He never left, not when she recoiled, as if burned, not through all the tears, hers and eventually his own. He kept watching even when Tara came by to check on him and she saw him crumpled up on the ground, watching a new nurse, one that looked remarkable like the slayer trying to coax her out of the wall. She wouldn't leave for that one, but they did put a pair of gloves over her hands, to try to stop her from hurting herself. Tara looked at Spike, feeling sorry for him, having to watch the real word was never fun. But there was something different about him, so she could tell, before she could, that he would have the chance to fix things. For now, she just set down the frothy mug of hot cocoa Joyce had made and told him softly, "one day, you'll see her again, Spike." Before she left.

Spike wrote it off as a platitude, given that Drusilla didn't have a soul and could never come here, to heaven. He never even thought to construe it as saying he would return to earth.

**So, firstly Merry *belated* Christmas to Drusilla_theseer. And also, thanks to william_thebloody for reading this over, telling me I'm insane, and fixing Spike's POV. What would I do without my amazing RP friends?**


End file.
